Myself, another guy named Todd, and a dude who changed his name to Che Guevera (swear to God) took my Buick Skylark down to Iowa City to see Sonic Youth in support of their “Sister” album. In my pocket was 10 hits of acid, but that’s another story. In between flicking off motorists with Reagan/Bush bumper stickers we talked about stuff. You know, stuff like who you were fucking, why Bauhaus was so fucking cool, and how you were leaning towards supporting Jesse Jackson during the caucus. One of the topics centered on “What’s the best Cure album out today?” Which sounds retarded, but I swear that this discussion took place. Of course, I immediately sided with “The Head On the Door” because that album is so fucking bitching, but Che started ranting about how much better “Pornography” was. His name might have been retarded, but I think he may have a point about that Cure album.
Hey, it’s Todd’s 20th year class reunion, so let’s package up some old shit, throw on some bonus tracks, and watch the old fucker buy it again. Rhino records: you know me too well.
Anyone who thinks that Robert Smith looks retarded now, needs to understand that the little fucker came from a pretty nifty dark place at one time, and “Pornography” is perhaps the highlight of Bob’s decadence. There’s nothing as depressing as this in the entire Cure arsenal, and it’s begins as soon as the album begins when Smith matter-of-factly deadpans “It doesn’t matter if we all die.”
The liner notes talk some about how they picked Phil Thornalley to produce the album because of his “dig drum sound” from an earlier Psychedelic Furs album. Make no mistake: this album has no “big drum sound” and my major complaint about “Pornography” is the same now as it was back in the 80’s: the production values are devoid of beans or franks. As we all know, this issue changed dramatically over their ensuing years and was completed perfected by the time of “Disintegration,” the greatest album of all time.
“One Hundred Years” gets the mood in place with stand-out nods going to “The Hanging Garden” (lead-off single), “The Figurehead,” and “Siamese Twins” (“Sing out loud: ‘We all DIE!’”…fabulous!).
For 8 tracks, the goth with a capital “G” doesn’t stop and even when the album’s title track finally rolls around after 38 minutes of dark eyeliner, Bob finally admits “one more day like today and I’ll kill you.” None. More. Black.
This album caused the brief breakup of the band, and it did nothing to secure my friendship with the guy name Che. He was, after all, a left wing poseur with a few too many Goth albums in his collection. Robert Smith, particularly with “Pornography,” proved he wasn’t posing at all. The black hair, white skin and eyeliner were all part of a genuine apathy, copied ad-nauseum throughout the Regan eighties and right into present tense.
Since the “Pornography” re-issue is a double bummer, people approach me on a daily basis and ask me about the collection of rarities in this collection. While nifty and informative for Cure fans, let’s be honest here: We will listen to the second disc three times and then never reach for it again. It’s a status symbol (“Have you ever heard the demo for “Temptation?” I have.”) as Bob’s original sketches once again point to how the final production sounds like it was the mastermind of a typical English pansy.
Nonetheless, if you’ve ever considered suicide as a viable option, buy this expanded edition as a prep tool and wallow in your discontent. Wonder why we still love a tubby middle aged guy with smeared lipstick? It’s all because of this album.
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